


Hips Don't Lie

by Flamebreaker



Category: Pentatonix
Genre: Dancing Lessons, Dirty Dancing, F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flamebreaker/pseuds/Flamebreaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are not enough Reader Inserts in this world!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hips Don't Lie

“Oh, no. I can’t dance,” you laugh as Avi jumps to his feet, liquid grace in every movement. He is already singing along as ‘Shakira’ comes on over the radio. “Avriel Benjamin Kaplan, don’t you even dare!”

 

“Sure you can dance, babe,” the basso profondo grins back at you, “And, if you can’t, I’ll teach you.”

 

“Avi…” You are not even halfway through your warning note before he has taken your hand, and he hauls you to your feet, spinning you around and dipping you so low that your hair brushes the floor. You cling to lapels of his leather jacket to keep from falling, shrieking, “AVI!”

 

“Yes?” He leans over you, a hand on your waist. Oh, why can you never say no to that sexy, lopsided smirk?

 

“I will steal your beanie if you don’t let you sit down now,” you threaten anyway, still upside down and glaring at the bottom of his bearded chin. Avi just laughs.

 

“You’re so mean, girl,” he smirks, “No one steals my beanies!”

 

You roll your eyes toward the ceiling, resigning yourself to the fact that you are going to dance, like it or not. _There are worse fates in life than dancing with Avi, though,_ you think as the basso profondo spins you back to your feet again, _the man can move_. So, you give up, letting Avi grab your hands and pull you into the centre of the living room.

 

His every movement is liquid, almost molten, and you stop dancing just to watch him sway, entranced by his snake-hipped body and rich, bass voice like a cobra with a flute. Avi looks up and grins, noticing that you are staring. He starts to play it up a little, bending his knees and rolling his hips in a way that is simply not decent enough to be considered a dance move.

 

“Hey, you’ve stopped dancing, girl,” he mentions. You laugh wryly; knowing you have been caught, you make a point of openly eying him up.

 

“I told you I can’t dance, not like that,” you breathe.

 

“Then, _I_ told _you_ , I’ll teach you. Come here.”

 

Without a word, Avi swings behind you and places his hands low on your hips, kissing your cheek sneakily. It makes you giggle. You still have no idea how he manages to be so sexy and so cute at the same time.

 

“Like this, babe,” the basso profondo whispers in your ear, guiding your body with his as he starts to rock his hips again.

 

Your bodies are pressed flush, and large, gentle hands caress the curve of your hipbones, his thumbs sliding down the hollow. You haven’t notice when it has turned so… sensual, so sexual, but it certainly has now. You allow your body to flow along the motion of his, like the tide, swaying with him in time to the beat, pressing you back against his chest just to feel the solidity of it. The curls of hair above the collar of his shirt tickle your back, bare above the neck of your loose, gossamer blouse.

 

Well aware of the effect his voice has on you, Avi starts singing along with the radio, low and resonant in your ear, nipping at your neck between phrases.

 

“Hey, girl, I can see your body moving/ and it's driving you crazy...”

 

You laugh, tilting your head back to allow him better access to your neck, his teeth sharp and his beard rough against the sensitive skin of your throat, your bodies still moving in synch.

 

“Oh, baby, when you talk like that,” you join in, “You make a woman go mad/ so be wise and keep on/ Reading the signs of my body. Oh, I’m on tonight/ and my hips don't lie/ and I’m starting to feel it's right/ All the attraction, the tension/ Don't you see baby, this is perfection.”

 

“Perfection, indeed,” Avi breaths, flirtatious, sliding his hands down your sides, raking his nails lightly down the outside seam of your jeans.

 

“ _You_ are perfection, Avi, darling,” you giggle, your head leaning back on his shoulder, trying not to make it too obvious what his touch does.

 

You reach your hands up behind you to play with the dark curls of hair that stick out below his beanie. You can feel the soft, thick strands slip between your fingers, before you slide your hands down to stroke his beard and neck as well. You have to arch your back a little to reach his jaw, and the angle pushes your hips into his a little harder. You use it to your advantage, grinding into him subtly, feeling Avi go stiff behind you.

 

“Hey, you’ve stopped dancing, babe...” you laugh breathily.

 

“Have I?” You can hear the catch in the basso profondo’s voice as his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you flush to him, back to chest.

 

You can feel him starting to react, and you rest your hands over his and echo his movements from before, rocking your hips back into his. Avi moans, the sound deep in his throat.

 

Suddenly, it isn’t even dancing anymore, just movement and pressure and undulating bodies, just writhing and pleasure and two lovers in synch. You can hear Avi panting in your ear, his whimpering breaths raspy. His hand is clenched tight on your waist; the other slides down between your legs, grinding the seam of your jeans into you almost painfully. You can tell his desperation is making his actions rushed and careless.

 

Not that you care. You push forward into his palm, the pleasure making your body jerk.

 

“Ah...! That feels good, babe...” the bass moans as you buck against him. You turn in the circle of his strong arms and slide a thigh between his, and the next moan he gives is a full octave lower. You close your eyes at the sound, rubbing up against him, liking the mix of sensations. His hands cupping your backside, Avi pushes back just as forcefully, his head tipping back and his eyelids flickering, his plush bottom lip hanging open.

 

Oh, that is too tempting a sight.

 

You take Avi’s bearded face in your hands and guide his mouth to yours, still rubbing your hips on his thigh. He is every bit as desperate as you are, and it shows in your kiss as you suck on his bottom lip gently. Giving a heady moan, Avi pulls his lip from between yours and crashes your mouths together, fast and rough and hot. His beard grates your cheek. You like the feeling.

 

Your hands slip under the leather of his jacket, over the singer’s powerful chest and down the fish-scale muscles of his ribs, your fingers tangling in the cotton of his shirt, before you grab his jacket lapels and yank him closer. Avi’s large hands cup your waist and the nape of your neck, angling your head as he slants his lips across yours, deepening the kiss. There are rough callouses on his fingers from his guitar strings, and you feel them as he brushes your neck.

 

Your bodies are still pressed flush, and you can feel him grinding against you, before realizing you have been doing the same thing without being consciously aware of it. You can feel how hard he is. Avi’s tongue flicks in the corner of your mouth, begging for entrance, and you grant it eagerly, capturing his bottom lip in your teeth again and sucking slightly. It makes the basso profondo moan, so you do it again, enjoying the deep, rich sound. His voice is beautiful, and you let the sound wrap around you like a blanket, snuggled in the heat and velvet of his kiss.

 

Finally, panting, you pull away, a wicked idea glinting lightbulb-bright behind your eyes. When you look up, Avi’s eyes are wide, his irises a thin crescent of jade-and-amber around huge, blown pupils; the thick, dark curls that frame his face are tousled from you running your hands through it. His lips are kiss-swollen, red where you have sucked at them. His beanie is skew, which makes you laugh.

 

“I have an idea.”

 

“ _Oh_ dear,” Avi raises an eyebrow.

 

Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you open the music app and scroll through until you find the song you are looking for, one that Avi himself asked you to download. The basso profondo’s eyebrow lifts even higher when he hears the simple, marimba melody at the beginning of Clean Bandit’s _Cologne_. (Unbeknownst to him, you have a whole playlist of songs under the title BassCannonKaplan, including Cologne, Hips Don’t Lie, Bootylicious, Pusher Love Girl, I Need your Love, Wizard of Aahhhh-s, Standing By, and a couple other decent bass solos.) You put the phone in your back pocket.

 

“I was having so much fun dancing,” you start with sly smirk, leaning into him and walking your fingers up his chest, as coyly as you can manage, moving so your thigh presses between his, “But, then, it is much more fun just to watch you dance, given how good you are at it. You wouldn’t feel like putting on a show, would you, Avi? It was so fun to watch earlier, and you do it for those chair girls... And, then, there is that interview you did a while ago, hence the choice of song. You are so sexy.”

 

“You fight dirty, girl,” Avi returns your smirk with an infinitely flirtatious one of his own, picking you up easily, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom you share.

 

Setting you lightly on your feet again, sliding his hands lower on your waist and starting to sway in time to the music still playing from your back pocket, he pushes you backwards gently, rocking the full length of his body against yours. Fighting the urge to push back against him again, your knees hit the edge of the bed and buckle weakly, landing you on the mattress with stunningly little grace.

 

Kicking off his converse and putting his phone and wallet on the bedside table where you have put your phone, Avi thrusts his hips in time to the music, seductive, hands in his pockets dangerously close to the telltale tenting of his jeans, and you feel your eyes follow the motion shamelessly.

 

He plays it up, alright, again bending his knees and balancing his weight low as he sways from foot to foot, his slim hips swinging downright provocatively, the lines of movement rolling through his whole body like the tide. The ceiling light above you casts the shadows of his thick eyelashes onto his cheeks as Avi looks up at you through lowered lids, his come-hither look intense, steamy. You meet his gaze; his eyes are so green, so vividly, deeply green. For someone as scared of the deep ocean as he is, he shouldn’t have eyes that mimic it so well.

 

Avi twists his wrists ‘round, moving his hands the way he always does when he is into a song. Suddenly, he is running his flat palms along his thighs, up, tugging teasingly at his belt loops, higher, up his sides, folding his arms above his head, rocking his hips but keeping his upper body totally still. He dances the same way he did for _I Need Your Love_ in the Sing Off, and you nearly swoon.

 

His fingers flutter teasingly on the undone top button of his shirt, where the tiniest hint of chest hair peeks teasingly above his collar. You don’t want to look away from his beautiful eyes, but you also don’t want to look away from the rest of him, either.

 

Half of you can’t quite believe this is actually happening, that Avi is dancing for you like this, and that he is _this_ good at it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you watch, wide-eyed, as he rolls his shoulders back and shrugs off his leather jacket. He lets it just drop to the floor, before he starts slowly undoing the buttons down his plaid shirt, one by one by one, again keeping his torso still and just moving his hips.

 

You haven’t been kidding. He could make good money doing this, if he ever wants to. You just selfishly hope he doesn’t.

 

Taking his shirt off reveals the wiry curls that tangle across the plane of the _basso profondo’s_ deep, muscular chest before tapering to a thin trail that runs down his belly. Your eyes follow the trail to the waistline of his jeans before following his hands back up his now-bare torso, watching him slip the shirt off his broad shoulders. The lean muscles under his skin tense as he stretches his arms above his head again, his biceps taut as he runs his hands back through his hair, his abs – not hugely defined, but definitely there – flexing with the motion of his hips.

 

Naked to the waist, Avi sits beside you, running his calloused fingers along your side over your thin blouse. It makes you tingle, and you reach out to stroke his chest in turn, carding your fingers through the dark, wiry curls. You smirk up at him under your eyelashes.

 

Avi slowly untucks your floral-print blouse, pulling the gossamer material over your head, and then strips off the camisole you wear under it; you willingly raise your arms to make it easier for him, before lifting your hips off the mattress as he plays with the button of your jeans and undoes the zip. It doesn’t take him long to tug them off, leaving you in a lacy bra and panties. You may have splurged for this very reason.

 

“You are so beautiful,” Avi tells you, kissing you gently, and you smile, running your palm over the waist of his jeans, just by his hip.

 

“So are you, but I can’t see nearly as much of you as I want to...”

 

Laughing, Avi fiddles with the zip of the black skinny-jeans slung low on his lean body, and you try not to stare at the telltale bulge beneath his hand as he rocks his hips again in that way that is too damned erotic to be a dance move. The button pops free easily, and the bass tucks his thumbs through the belt loops, tugging them off, inch by inch.

 

Swallowing hard, you watch the sexy bass step out of his jeans. He drags his briefs off, too, standing naked and uncharacteristically shameless in the middle of the bedroom.

 

You stare openly, taking in his thick, brunet hair with the little curl at the bottom, the way his beard hugs the line of his jaw, the bright, aroused glint in his eyes, the cheeky tilt of his soft lips and the hint of a sharp canine behind. You track your eyes down the shadows on either side of his Adam’s apple, along the lines of his exposed collarbones and the defined, powerful muscles of his shoulders and upper chest. Your eyes immediately follow the trail of hair down his firm belly, glancing between his thighs before the blush crawls red up your neck and you glanced away. He is as turned on as you are; it is just more obvious for him.

 

Avi turns the music down and then kneels on the floor in front of you, laughing as you trail your eyes up his naked body to meet his gaze, his hands sliding along your thighs.

 

“Better, babe?” he asks slyly.

 

“You missed a spot,” you laugh, reaching up and snatching the beanie off his head, placing it on your own, and Avi pouts, snatching the hat back.

 

“My beanie,” he grumps, “Much sexier than my hat hair.”

 

“I disagree,” you grin, nicking it back and throwing in onto the bedside table next to your phones and his wallet, before running your fingers through his thick mane, “Your hair is very sexy.”

 

“Thanks,” Avi says, before lowering his head to look up at you through thick, dark lashes, the beanie forgotten. The feeling of his hands on your bare skin is torture, when all you want him to do is move his hands up, just a little further...

 

He slips his large hands behind your back to unhook your lacy bra with ease of practice.

 

Avi smirks at you again – he is good at that look; he is unfairly good at that look – and kneels between your legs. He captures your ankles, kissing the arch of your foot, nipping the joint of your ankle, trailing his lips up your calf, as slowly as he can, intending on driving you mad. He repeats the action with the other leg, and you start to tremble.

 

You look down to meet those beautiful, green eyes.That smile makes you melt, and then you are melting all over again as Avi presses kisses up the insides of your thighs.

 

The basso profondo holds eye contact as he presses a single, light kiss on the nub of nerves between your thighs. He lays light, teasing licks on your core, refusing to look away, his shaggy-haired head framed by your thighs. It makes you shiver. His eyes are burning; you can’t look away even if you want to. His beard is rough against the insides of your thighs, and you sink your hands into his soft hair, tugging at the strands. It tickles unbearably.

 

Nope, you can’t keep his gaze any longer. Tipping your head back, you whimper, lying back on the pillows, tossing your head and writhing with the pleasure, panting hard now, gasping air in ragged lungfuls.

 

Avi is very, very good at this, you have to admit. His bearded cheek brushes the inside of your thigh, and you grip his hair in white-knuckled hands, begging. He moans as you tug a little too hard, and you feel the vibrations of the sound between your thighs.

 

“Do... that... again.... Please... Avi!”

 

The basso profondo finally succumbs to your pleading whimpers with a lopsided smirk that turns your spread knees to jelly, teasing you mercilessly, growling another sexily low note that makes your knees weak, again, then again. Avi presses the curve of his Adam’s apple against your bare skin and moans openly, shamelessly; you can feel the vibrations all the way up your spine.

 

Your body jerks of its own accord. Your hands clench in his hair, pulling lightly on the dark, mop-ish strands, angling his head. The singer looks up, meeting your eyes over the curve of your breasts, and you force yourself to keep his gaze even as the pleasure of his mouth tugs at the back of your neck, urging you to tilt your head back.

 

It reduces you to a puddle on the couch as he licks a trail along the full length of your core. He moans again, and the sound resonates through your body. You just pant, gripping handfuls of his hair.

 

Grinning slyly, the basso profondo raises a hand, slipping a finger inside you, not taking his mouth from your womanhood. Your wetness makes it easy for him, flesh sliding, frictionless, against slick flesh. You can feel the callouses from his guitar strings, rough against your walls. He adds another finger and twists his hand, and you jolt.

 

And, finally, your body is stiffening, your feet braced on the mattress on either side of Avi’s shoulders, your hands gripping his hair until your knuckles turn white. You cry out as you come, throwing your head back and closing your eyes tightly, body rigid, giving a groaning sound that is half-scream and half-sob. The ecstasy is intense and sudden and consuming, wringing you inside out. Your tight walls clench around his fingers. The sensations make your body shudder under his mouth and hand, and he holds your hips firmly in place as your muscles spasm, squeezing your eyes shut, forcing an incoherent version of Avi’s name past your lips. Oh, it feels good. It feels so damn good…. That is your only conscious thought. It just feels good.

 

The singer places a light, teasing kiss on your clit one last time before he straightens up, crawling up to pin you against the mattress as you go limp below him. He kisses you hard, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You can taste your arousal on his lips.

 

“That good?” he asks you.

 

“Bop,” is the most intelligent reply you can muster. It mimics the sound of your brain shorting out entirely. Usually, it’s his catchphrase for when he doesn’t know what to say or is overwhelmed completely.

 

Avi laughs and kisses you soundly on the mouth, before trailing his lips down your throat and nipping at your collarbone. You whimper, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck and tipping your head back, and you can feel his smile against your skin.

 

“I like doing that,” he murmurs, his voice rich as velvet, “I like that sound.”

 

“Huh,” you giggle, “I don’t know if you are aware of exactly how much I like your voice, too....”

 

“I think I am,” the _basso profondo_ chuckles, purposely pitching his voice low, like the sounds that have driven you mad before, and you shiver.

 

Propping himself up on his elbows above you and angling his hips with yours, Avi starts to thrust in slow, rocking motions, swaying, grinding his hips into yours, his every movement just as fluid and feline as his dancing. You moan, feeling his body twisting beneath you, pulling you with him like the tide, and you squirm helplessly at how good it feels. Your nerves are still a little raw from his actions earlier.

 

“Oh, babe...” he whimpers (Avi Kaplan, whimpering!), voice sexy and gravelly and deep, low in the back of his throat, “Yes....”

 

You wind your legs tighter around his waist, digging your nails into his broad shoulders. Your head tips to allow him access as his mouth lowers to your neck, his bearded cheek grating roughly against your upper torso as he attacks the sensitive skin with harsh, licking kisses. Avi rests his head in the valley between your breasts, his parted lips trailing over the upper-most swell of flesh. He runs his tongue over your nipple, biting gently. You whimper.

 

It doesn’t take long for Avi to pick up the pace, and the steady, swaying rocking turns into quick, sharp jerks of his hips. His tempo is quick, urgent, but for all that, he is still as gentle as he can manage in the state he’s in, watching your eyes, stroking your sides lightly. Even half mad with ecstasy, you notice the care he takes with you, and you do your best to repay him, running your hands through the hair on his chest, rubbing your thumbs over his nipples, kissing his face and neck and collarbones, pushing your hips against him, trying to amplify the friction that will bring him the most pleasure. He is so good to you; you want him to know that it is well appreciated.

 

Closing your eyes against your own pleasure, you run your hands through the singer’s hair, arms locked around the back of his head, legs wound tight around his midriff to pull him closer, deeper into you. You wrap your arms around his broad torso to play with the curls at the nape of his neck, your hips moving in time with the rhythm the singer has found.

 

Avi’s fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave faint, red marks as he holds your hips. You can feel his hot breath and rough beard as he pants into the hollow of your throat. The basso profondo groans low and deep and throaty, green-and-amber eyes rolling back in his head, his lean body jerking mindlessly. He captures your lips in a passionate kiss.

 

You can physically sense Avi struggling not to come as you writhe, losing your mind against him. It doesn’t work. He gives a long, low keen, body slowing its actions, eyes closing. The hands in your hair tighten; his whole frame tenses. His hips buck forward.

 

You kiss Avi greedily, jerking your hips hard against his, your tongue prying his mouth as his lips part when he gasps for air. You watch hungrily as he writhes, watching him fall apart.

 

Avi’s entire body jerks hard, shamelessly, every muscle going taut as he loses himself in a rush. He gives another low, loud keen, groaning, his eyes closed. His hands tighten on your waist and wrist until his blunt nails leave livid, red marks in your flesh. His hips thrust wildly against yours, milking every last drop of white-hot pleasure.

 

When the rush of sensations finally wanes, Avi sags heavily against you, pinning you to the mattress. He pants hard into the hollow of your throat, and you lean into him; his heart is pounding wildly, sweat dampening the dark curls on his chest.

 

You lie together for a long time, catching your breath.

 

Slowly, grudgingly, you peel yourself away from him and starting pulling your knickers back on and clasping your bra back in place, letting Avi – now in his briefs and jeans – button your shirt. He doesn’t bother with his own shirt, just sitting on the bed and watching your tug your jeans over your hips.

 

Dressed, you push him onto his back and lay draped across him. Wrapping your arms around Avi’s broad shoulders, you bury your face in his the solid, yielding muscles of his chest, his hair wiry and ticklish against your cheek as you press kisses to his bare skin. Avi winds his long, defined arms around your lower back, playing with your hair and resting his head on top of yours.You sigh and rub up against him, cuddling as close to the sweaty, heady warmth of his body as you can. You pull the blanket over you.

 

Avi cranes his head to look down at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You close your eyes and rest your head on his chest, kissing his collarbone, feeling the pound of his heartbeat against your temple. You just rest, his body warming yours. Avi cups the back of your head with his hand, caressing your neck, stroking your jaw with a calloused thumb as he kisses you sweetly.

 

Your noses bump, light and comic, and he gives a bass chuckle that is far sexier than he thinks it is. You smile at him, completely besotted.

 

Avi hugs you tight to his chest, and brushes his lips against your forehead.

 

“You comfortable there, babe?” he asks quietly.

 

“Very,” you murmur, glancing up at him. He smiles.

 

“You know what, babe?” Avi asks, tilting his head and sending you another of his famous lopsided smirks.

 

“What?” you reply. You snuggle into his bare chest, your arms around his midriff, looking up at him as he runs his hands up and down your back. You like this.

 

“You can too dance.”

 


End file.
